Another Chance
by Banana Tooth
Summary: Besides, what could I have done? Told him to stop staring at me with puppy dog eyes? MacStella.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Another Chance

**Author:** Banana Tooth

**Rating:** K

**Spoilers: **Slight spoilers for Season Three

**Disclaimer:** I am in no way connected with CBS, the CSI Franchise, or its writers, producers, or directors.

* * *

"Hey, Danny, are you going with us?" I ask as he comes in.

"Yeah. I don't have anything else to do."

"Well, thanks," I tease him.

He laughs. "Didn't mean that the way it sounded."

Don pokes his head in the door. "Ready, Stell?"

"Just finishing up."

Sheldon slides back from his computer. "Should we ask Mac?"

"Well, we can _ask_…" Danny says doubtfully.

"I'll ask him," I volunteer as I hang up my lab coat. "Just give us a minute." I've hardly seen Mac all day so I have no idea what state he's in, but I figure I have the best chance of any of us.

I pause outside his door for a moment, enjoying the view, because he's wearing his dark red shirt today. He doesn't wear it nearly often enough, in my opinion.

Claire had always lamented the fact that she never could teach him to dress properly. I believe her words were, "Here's this gorgeous guy, and he goes around in white shirts and awful ties."

Then he had come in, in a white shirt and an awful tie, and we had both burst into giggles while he stared at us, bewildered.

I miss Claire.

I tap on his door and go in, noting to my further satisfaction that his sleeves are rolled up, his collar is open, and he's just a little bit scruffy. "Headed out?" he asks as he looks up.

"Mm-hm." I go around behind his desk to see what he's reading and set my hand on his shoulder, kneading it lightly. He's too tense. He's always too tense. "We're all going to O'Sullivan's. Do you want to go?"

"Who's going?"

"Don and Danny and Sheldon. And me." Who did he think was going, Sonny Sassone? I squeeze his shoulder. "Come on and go with us. It'll be fun."

"Okay."

Well, that was easier than I expected. I wait while he finishes up and gets his jacket, and we go out together to meet the others.

"Hey, look who it is," Danny exclaims. They all greet him with affection and I have to hide my grin because they're so glad to see him. We've all missed him, with his being so withdrawn lately.

Mac is quiet at the restaurant. Or at least it seems like it, but it's hard to tell with Danny and Don giving us an account of their day. Between their loony witnesses, dead ends, and red herrings, there's really no chance for any other conversation.

We finish eating, and Don gets up first. "I'm beat," he announces. "See you guys tomorrow."

"Yeah, I'm going to head out too," Danny says.

Sheldon's eyes seek mine across the table. "Want to share a cab, Stella?"

He's a sweetie. "No, thanks. I want to talk to Mac."

"Okay." He flashes me his grin, for no reason I can discern, and gets up. "Good night."

"Good night," Mac and I say at the same time, and I turn back to him. He's staring down at his glass as he turns it idly in his hand. I reflect on my good fortune, to suddenly have Mac all to myself, outside the lab, when I didn't even expect it.

I reach out with my foot and nudge him under the table. "So. What's up?"

His face softens and he smiles a little. "Not much, I guess."

"Seems like I haven't talked to you in forever."

His smile widens slightly, his eyes still on his glass. "Yeah, it's been what, ten hours?"

I laugh. "I mean a real conversation. I never get to see you anymore."

"I know." He finally looks up at me. "Are you happy?" he asks.

That takes me by surprise. "Yes."

"You sure?"

Oh. He wants a real answer. I take a minute to consider. A lot has happened over the past few years: Frankie; the bombing, when I almost lost Mac; Aiden; Lindsay…but I didn't lose Mac, and I'm working through the aftereffects of Frankie. All in all, I'd say I'm pretty happy. The only thing that would make me happier…

_No. Don't think about that. Not while he's sitting right here across from you. _"Well, yeah. I mean, I guess so." He nods, looking back down. I reach across the table and touch his hand, briefly. "What about you?"

"I'm okay."

"You sure?" It's a game we have to play, pulling back the layers, getting closer and closer to a straight answer. It takes more work on my part, since he doesn't like to talk about himself, but if I'm patient, it will come.

He raises his head slowly. I'm not prepared for the way he looks at me, his clear, greenish gaze traveling slowly across my face, seeming to take in every detail, as if he wants to remember it always...it's almost like he's saying goodbye. Forever. I have a horrible thought that maybe he's quitting, leaving the lab, and he really is saying goodbye. And then he meets my eyes again, and something in his makes me start to blush and I'm afraid he can read my thoughts, but I can't look away until finally he does himself.

"Stella…" He stares down at his hands. "We can't."

I don't even have to wonder what he means. I know, instinctively, and I shake my head rebelliously before I can even process his words. "Don't say that."

"I have to." His voice is low. I can barely catch his next words. "I have to remind myself."

I feel strangely calm. My eyes travel from the top of his head down over his shoulders and arms, down to his hands on the table, while I try to process my thoughts. This doesn't even seem real, because he's not only acknowledged what's between us, he's as good as admitted he wants it too. And rejected me, all in one fell swoop. Maybe I'm just too stunned to feel anything…yet.

I touch his hand again, just to get his attention. He looks back up. My words come slowly.

"Really, Mac…would it be so bad?"

Now he shakes his head. "It's not just us we have to think about."

"What if it was?"

"What?"

"What if it was just us. If we just met like ordinary people."

He's silent for just a moment. "It doesn't do any good to think like that."

"I'm asking you, Mac." I'm not being fair, I know, but I want to know what he'll say. I want him to say _something_, anything, for me to remember, to store up with my other treasured little memories. "_I'm glad you stayed_." "_You're the strongest person I know_." "_I appreciate you too_…"

But he doesn't say anything. His eyes are sad as he slowly lowers his head again. My throat hurts.

"Well, if that's the way you feel…" I say at last, and instantly regret it when I see the pain that crosses his face.

"It's not the way I feel. It's just…"

"Just the way it is. I know."

"Stella…I don't want you to think I value the job over you."

I shake my head again. "I don't think that. I know what you mean."

"You know how I feel about the integrity of the lab."

"Yeah."

"We can't compromise our investigations."

"We wouldn't." That comes out more forcefully than I intended, and he looks surprised.

"We can't be sure."

"We never have yet," I say softly.

"But we weren't…"

"No, but look at us, Mac. We're like—"

"Like what?"

"Like an old married couple." That gets a tiny, fleeting grin from him. "If we were going to—compromise anything, we would have done it a long time ago." _Besides, what about Peyton, _I want to demand, but I don't. That was different, I know: they worked in separate departments, she didn't report to him…that's what my reasonable side tells me, anyway.

"We don't always agree about things," he reminds me.

_Um, that's an understatement. _"So we'd fight, and we'd make up. Like we always do."

To my surprise, he brings Peyton up himself—sort of. "It's different when you're together," he says slowly.

"Is that what happened?"

He sighs. "No."

He's not exactly making a compelling case here, it seems to me. He looks defeated sitting there. Still, somehow, I want to pull him into my arms and tell him it's going to be all right. I sigh, shifting restlessly, impatient with myself for thinking that way, but old habits die hard, I guess.

_And it's not going to be all right_. I'm starting to feel a sinking sensation. I need to get out of here, get some air, think things over. It's getting late, anyway. I slide back my chair. "Well—we'd better go," I murmur.

"Yeah," he says. We walk out together. He holds the door for me, like he always does, and we go out to the curb. I feel a little calmer once we get outside and I turn to face him in the dim light.

"Do you want to take a cab?" he asks.

"Yeah, I guess so." I watch him as he looks up the street. I want to reach out to him, touch him, hug him. I want to kiss him.

_I bet I could change his mind if I kissed him._

_No, _I tell myself firmly. _That's not the answer_. Instead, I set my hand on his sleeve, feeling his hard arm beneath the fabric. A cab approaches and he signals to it, and brings his focus back to me. "Here you go."

"Thanks." I stroke my thumb against his sleeve. I realize that he's not looking me in the eye; his eyes are on my lips.

_Good grief. Make this a little harder, why don't you. _

I let go of his arm. "'Night, Mac."

"'Night."

He opens the cab door and closes it behind me. As the cab pulls away, I look back through the rear window to where he stands under the circle of the streetlight, his shoulders sagging. He looks dejected. Always before, it's been my job not to leave him like that, to make sure he at least feels better than he did to start with.

I bite my lip. I am _not_ going to break down in a cab. If I have to cry, I can at least wait until I get home.

The ride seems to take forever. Finally I find myself turning my key in the lock and going in, once again, to a dark, empty apartment.

_Stop. Don't think about that either._

I turn on a single lamp and slowly lower myself into the armchair near my bed, drawing up my knees and wrapping my arms around them, staring into the distance. My stomach hurts. I notice that I'm clenching my teeth, that I'm tense all over, in fact. I'm trying to relax my muscles when my phone rings.

It's Mac. I draw an unsteady breath and try to keep my voice normal as I answer. "Hello?"

"Hi."

There's a pause. _What did he call for?_ "What is it, Mac?"

"I…just wanted to call. I couldn't come up with anything to say."

I hug my knees closer and shut my eyes. Finally he says, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." That's a lie, and it doesn't sound very convincing.

"See you in the morning?"

"Yeah."

"Well…good night."

"Mac…"

"Yes?"

He's right. There really doesn't seem to be anything to be said. "Nothing. Good night."

I close my phone. Some time later I crawl into bed, and lie awake for a long time in the darkness before I finally fall into a dreamless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

I wake up the next morning with a heavy feeling, like something is terribly, terribly wrong. It takes me a minute to remember.

_Oh. _

I force myself to get up and get ready. I have to go to work, whatever my own problems are. I even make myself eat a few bites of breakfast, even though I feel vaguely queasy.

I take the subway and realize on the way that I'm being very careful not to think too hard, which can't possibly be healthy. _You've got to face it sometime. You have to think it through. _Well, that will have to wait. Work comes first.

I expect Mac to avoid me all day, but he's there briefing the others when I come in and his eyes seek mine across the room. His gaze is troubled and sad. _Do I look like that too? _I hope not. We're going to give ourselves away if we're not careful.

Danny and Sheldon and Lindsay are already on their way out. Once they're gone, he looks back at me. "So you can take the pizza place?"

"Sure."

"Flack's meeting you there."

"Okay."

I pause because he looks like he's about to say something else, but he doesn't, so I turn and go out the door. My throat hurts again. I feel guilty, like I should have done something, like I shouldn't have left him standing there like that. _But what could I have done? Told him to stop staring at me with puppy-dog eyes? _

It sounds awful, but I actually feel a little better once I get to the crime scene. Flack is there, full of his usual cheerful wisecracks, and I'm able to throw myself into the evidence collection and concentrate on that instead.

I keep busy all day until shift ends, but then I need to leave my report on Mac's desk and I find myself lingering in the hall, wishing he would step out of his office so I could drop it off and leave before he sees me. Danny passes and I almost ask him to give it to Mac. And then I give myself a little shake. _This is ridiculous_. I tap on his door, march in, and hand him the folder.

He glances through it and looks back up. "Thanks."

I nod and turn to go.

"Stella."

Always before, I'd loved the way he said my name, the way he seemed to caress it with his voice…but maybe that was just my imagination. Or wishful thinking. I'd never even really liked my name until one time, years and years ago, he'd said that he liked it, and that it suited me.

But now it makes my stomach hurt. I turn back around. He looks the way I feel, I notice. Finally he says, "Good work today."

"Thanks."

He doesn't say anything else, just looks at me with those big, sad eyes. Finally I have to break the silence. "Night, Mac." _I'm going home. You can stare at someone else. _

"Good night."

* * *

_Is this the way it's going to be? _I ask myself as I take the elevator down. And as time passes, I find that it is. We settle into a pattern of saying hello and goodbye, and little else. When we're working together, we talk about work and nothing more. I find myself escaping as soon as possible, while before I was always lingering, finding excuses to be around him, going into his office every evening to say good night and make sure he was all right.

I wonder who he does talk to, and imagine that he probably doesn't talk to anyone, just keeping everything inside, and then I feel guilty for not taking care of him, and then frustrated for feeling that way because he's not my problem. He doesn't want to be my problem; he made that clear.

Still, my words ring in my ears:_ We take care of each other. _I didn't put any qualifiers on that. I wonder if I'm subconsciously trying to punish him, and if the strain between us is my fault. But then I'll find him staring at me again, not saying a word, and I'll convince myself that he's not trying either, and it's up to him to make the next move. I'm here if he wants to talk.

_But you don't act like it_, I scold myself. _He's never going to open up as long as you treat him like this._

My thoughts go around and around. One night, I go out by myself for a drink to try to think things through a little. I sit alone in a booth and stare down at my glass. _What on earth is wrong with you? It's not like anything changed. He didn't break up with you; you were never together. He never said you couldn't be friends, just like you always were. _

Then it comes to me. I realize that somewhere, in the very back of my mind, I'd always assumed that one day it would happen. Sometime, somehow, we'd be free of our Frankies and Peytons and the time would be right for both of us, and we'd find each other. The more I think about it, the more I become aware that I'd been thinking that way for years, always looking forward to it without even realizing.

_Well, that's it. He's made up his mind. Find something else to look forward to. _I can't imagine what that would be, but still, somehow, it helps a little to know what's wrong.

* * *

"Lunch?" Sheldon suggests.

"I'm starved," I admit. It's way past lunch time.

We stop at a little sandwich shop and take a table in the corner. I look up to find his eyes on me. _I'm going to stop eating with these guys. All they do is sit there and stare at me._

"So…are you okay?" he asks.

"I'm fine."

He nods. "Listen, you don't have to tell me, of course, but…what happened with you and Mac?"

I sigh and look down at my food. "Nothing happened."

"Is that the problem?"

I don't answer, which is an answer in itself. I should have known he'd see it, even if no one else did, because he's so sensitive and never misses a thing.

"Maybe you should talk to him."

"I did." I sound hopeless, but that's the way I feel.

"Well…maybe he'll come around. Guys are pretty slow sometimes."

I smile a little. I've noticed that myself. "Sheldon, I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't let it affect my work."

He shakes his head. "You haven't. I just don't like to see you unhappy. Or him either, even if he is a moron."

I have to laugh at that. "What do you think? Do you think it's a bad idea?"

"What, you and him?"

"Yeah. He thinks we could compromise our investigations."

"You and him?" he repeats, a little incredulously. "I just don't see that."

"Yeah, neither do I."

"You wouldn't even have to work the same cases, anyway." We're finished eating, and we get up to leave. "It's not like there aren't enough to go around."

"It sounds so simple when you say it," I murmur.

He stops me, his hand on my arm. "Stella, it probably wouldn't be a good idea for most people. But I think it's obvious to anyone that you were made for each other. So…don't give up just yet."

_Made for each other. _I thought I was the only one who thought that. It's good to know that someone agrees with me, anyway. I kiss his cheek impulsively. "Thanks, Sheldon."

He grins. "No problem."

* * *

Sheldon makes me feel better—he's good at that—but then when I see Mac again I'm back where I started. We can't keep going on like this. It's all got to come to a head sometime, and I'm both dreading it and wishing it would happen.

In the end, it happens on an ordinary day—or what has come to be ordinary, anyway. He's studying the photos he's hung up on his wall when I come in with the latest trace results. Today he's wearing green, which of course brings out his eyes, so I avoid them as I hand over the sheet and turn to go.

But then he touches my elbow as he thanks me. Just a tiny touch, like he's done so many times before, but for me it's as if the dam has finally burst. I'm going to cry, right in front of him, right here in his office. I keep my back to him, biting my lip hard, my fists clenched. He's probably staring at me in horror, but I can't help it. I want to escape, but I can't go out in the hallway like this either.

He silently hands me a box of tissues, and that only makes it worse. I hold one to my face, trying to regulate my breathing and steady my voice.

"I'm leaving, Mac."

"What?"

"I'm leaving the lab." I take a deep breath, trying not to sound too pathetic, and my words come softly. "I can't do this anymore."

His hand comes down on my shoulder. He's standing close behind me. I know I'm shaking, but I can't stop.

"I need to talk to you," he says after a moment. I don't answer. His grip tightens. "Can you come over to my place tonight?"

I wasn't expecting that. "I guess so."

"Okay." His phone rings then, and he answers, his hand never moving from my shoulder. "Flack's got the hotel manager," he says as he hangs up.

"I'll go with you."

"You need a minute?"

"No. I'm okay."

He turns me around to face him. I give him a little half-smile and drop my eyes again, and we go out in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

I have butterflies in my stomach as I stand behind him while he unlocks his door. He switches on the lights and I stand uncertainly in the middle of the room, looking around his neat, precise apartment. He hangs up his jacket and asks, "Do you want some tea?"

That actually sounds good. "Sure." I follow him to the kitchen where he puts the teakettle on to boil. Then he leans against the counter, frowning at the floor, and I intently study the takeout menus on his refrigerator without seeing a thing.

Finally the kettle whistles and he sits down at the table, sliding one mug across to my side. I sit down too, although I don't want to. I want to stay on my feet so I can pace around while I pour out my frustration and even yell if I have to.

_Get a grip. _He's trying to do the right thing—I suppose—and the least I can do is hear him out. I sigh, watching the steam rise from my cup. "I'm sorry, Mac. I shouldn't have told you like that. I just…"

"You can't leave," he interrupts.

That strikes me the wrong way. I know it's silly, but I feel my temper flaring up. "Yes, I can. You can't tell me what to do," I spit out before I can stop myself.

"Hey," he says. I glance up at him and back down, feeling a little foolish for that outburst. "That's not what I meant. I meant…I couldn't ever let you go knowing you left because of me. I'd have to go first."

"Well, you can't leave," I say, stating the obvious.

"I _could_," he says slowly. "You could have my job."

"I don't want your job, Mac."

"You'd be good at it. You're better with people."

Even in the middle of this conversation, that makes me feel warm all over. _Focus, _I order myself. "Are you really thinking about leaving?"

"No. I don't think either one of us should."

I shake my head, my eyes fixed on my tea. "We can't go on like this forever." My voice is barely above a whisper. "It hurts too much."

"We don't have to." I lift my head slowly as he continues. "I think...if you'll give me another chance…I think we could do it."

I refuse to believe my ears. "What?"

"We've been miserable, Stella. For weeks. But we've done our jobs. Solved our cases. I don't think it's affected our work. Do you?"

"Well…not our actual work, no. But we haven't been much fun to be around."

He smiles a little. "That's why I was thinking, if we've been able to do our jobs through all _this_…how much better it would be if we were happy."

I'm afraid this is a dream. But my mug is warm in my hands, and when I squeeze my hands around it, I don't wake up.

"So…can we try again?" he asks shyly.

My heart is beating too fast as I try to collect my thoughts. I had had a whole list of things I wanted to say to him, that of course only came to me after that night at the restaurant, and now I can't remember any of it. But it really doesn't matter, because there's only one thing I need to say, and I manage to get it out. "Yes."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

His face relaxes almost imperceptibly. He looks down. "I was afraid—that people could say things…because you were in a relationship with the boss…but I was thinking about what you said. About how we're already like a married couple."

"An _old _married couple," I correct him.

He grins. "Yeah. And I just kept thinking…what if we were?"

"Were what?"

"A married couple. But I didn't know if you even wanted to _be_ married—at all—you've never said anything about it…"

"That's because you never asked me."

"Really?"

"Really." I set down my mug, look straight into his beautiful eyes, and say clearly, "I would marry you in a heartbeat, Mac."

This time it isn't painful to meet his gaze. After a moment he stands to his feet, but I just sit there staring up at him because I can't even think straight. I feel like I've had the wind knocked out of me. He holds out his hand to me, and I rise a little unsteadily and slide mine into his.

We just stand there, inches apart. His expression mirrors mine: eyes wide, lips parted slightly. After all these years of dancing around each other, I think neither one of us knows what to do next.

He slowly lifts his other hand and sets it along my face, and I close my eyes and lean into his palm, hungry for his touch, reveling in the warm, gentle contact. My stomach flutters as his lips come down across my other cheek, tracing my cheekbone, feather-light. "You are so beautiful, Stella," he murmurs as his lips slide up my temple. "Beautiful inside and out…you have an inner light that shines through no matter where you are." Now he moves across my eyebrow as he whispers, "That's what made me fall in love with you."

Tears come to my eyes and I squeeze them shut as he kisses my forehead, and between my brows, and down the side of my nose. And then he brushes his lips against mine.

That's the end of my patience.

I pull my fingers from his grasp and catch his face between my hands. And then I'm kissing him, kissing him like I've always dreamed of doing, and he's kissing me back, hard, frantic, almost desperate, until I give up trying to keep up with him and just let his kisses wash over me. The room is spinning and I cling to him, the only thing around me that's solid. He pulls me into one long kiss that leaves me shaking and breathless, and still when he breaks it off I pull him back immediately, because I've been waiting for _years_ and I'm not about to let him go.

His hand is in my hair and he tips my head back, way back, and without warning his lips are against the base of my neck. I give a little cry, I can't help it, and my breath comes in little sobbing gasps as he trails slow, hot kisses up my throat and over my chin, and then back to my mouth and he takes it again while my fists clench in his hair...

…And our phones go off at the same time.

I lean against him, breathing hard. We check our text messages over each other's shoulders and then I turn my face against his neck in frustration. He strokes my back gently with his fingertips. My heart is still pounding.

"You know it's always going to be this way," he says, his voice raspy.

"We could retire," I suggest.

He laughs against my hair. "I don't think we can tonight."

I permit myself just a few seconds more of his embrace before I reluctantly pull away. "I'll just be a second." He's grinning at me. "What?"

"You're glowing."

I feel my smile spread broadly over my face. "I'm happy."

He grins from ear to ear. I go into his bathroom to repair my hair and makeup, and notice that he's right. I grin at myself in the mirror. I look positively radiant—just like I feel.

He's waiting for me when I come out. He takes my hand as we go out and clasps it in his all the way down to his car. He has to let go to drive off, but I turn to him when we stop at a light. Judging from the way he smiles and squeezes my hand again, he's not too apprehensive about working the scene together.

Flack meets us as we drive up. If he's surprised that we arrive together, he doesn't show it as he leads the way, briefing us on the scene. It surprises even me how easily we slip into work mode, almost as if nothing has happened, but after all, we do have years and years of experience at that.

It's the wee hours of the morning when we finish up, and Mac sends everyone home to get some rest before we tackle processing the evidence. I see Lindsay off and then go to find him in his office, intent on taking him somewhere to feed him. I know he's starving.

He glances carefully up and down the deserted hall and pulls me to him, and it seems perfectly natural and right to be in his arms at the end of another exhausting shift. A thought strikes me and I nuzzle his neck happily. "I guess it's a fair trade."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…it's always going to be like _this_, too."

He gathers me closer in his big bear hug. "We can't do this at work, you know."

I laugh. "I know."

"So…what do you think?"

"I think we can do it."

"You never thought we couldn't."

"No, but…I haven't changed my mind, anyway." His cheek is against mine and I feel him grin. I pull back so I can see him. "Mac, listen. I know what you were thinking. That's why I decided that if it came down to it, if it didn't work out for us to work together, I could always find another job. Because as much as I love this job…I love you more."

His eyes widen at that. He leans in and kisses me again, softly. This time it's sweet and slow and gentle, and his lips linger against mine even after it ends. Finally he speaks again.

"I'm sorry I don't have a ring for you."

It takes me a moment to even realize what he means, and when I do I'm surprised because that hadn't even crossed my mind. "We can shop for one together," I reassure him. Trying on rings with Mac…I never even dared to dream about that.

"So, tell me the truth. Was that the worst proposal ever?"

I snicker. "Surely, somewhere, _someone's_ done it worse."

"And been accepted?"

I squeeze him, laughing. "I don't know about _that_. But I'll tell you one thing."

"What?"

I set my lips just below his ear. He catches his breath and his arms tighten as I murmur, "It's the best one _I've_ ever gotten."


End file.
